


The Saucy Collection by GHOSTFACE

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Derpface, F/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Stalking, Voyeurism, big titties, he wants Dat pussy, the mask stays on, thiccness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Ghostface spots a survivor he’s never see before, which is even more odd considering he’s been keeping tabs on everyone doing everything, including getting wrecked by other killers. This new Miss Nameless Survivor is pretty tasty looking too. Obviously, he’s gonna help himself to a nibble.A/N: Part of a 3k Ghostface Smut challenge on my discord. It was super fun to do something small and I’ve been meaning to write some Ghosty goo.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Original Female Character(s), Ghostface (Scream)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 159





	The Saucy Collection by GHOSTFACE

The best part about stalking, aside from air humping an unaware survivor seconds before slashing their spine, was the stuff he saw when survivors weren't necessarily surviving but making fools of themselves.

For instance, Meg—the little sprint runner with resting bitch face—was allergic to the foliage in the Red Forest. Dwight—the lil' dweeb—liked to ogle any pair of tits working beside him on a generator, which explained all the times he got hooked thanks to crossed wires alerting even the slumbering Entity to his presence. 

Ghostface liked observing all the little quirks each survivor had, especially since he could kill them and their characteristics, knowing the next trial he'd be able to do it all over again. Heaven was other people; other dead people...

The survivor's idiosyncrasies continued to interest him as the roster grew. 

Yui was tenacious, always leading him to others even though they never knew. The Manchester-born David, with his drunken conversations between Me, Myself, and I during low crawls through the grass. Even the one with the beanie who farted when she was nervous, made his games so much less… dull. It was all fun and games before the slaughter—before arteries spurted and ankles snapped. 

Ghostface relished in these quirks as much as he did slicing their bellies on the hooks, cutting intestine away from adhesive tissue to tie bloody ribbons or simply let the mess hang and dribble...

Sometimes, he'd even snap a picture if he got too carried away and decided to finish them off himself or—sometimes—if they were doing something reeeeaaaally fascinating that warranted a little memento. In case he was stuck laying low in some other killer's realm, it helped to have proper 'reading' material. Only so many knife tricks one can master before the shine of a blade became boring without flesh to cut it with.

Carrying around a pocket full of visible memories and blackmail (unneeded in this world) was a home away from home. He made sure to mark other's territory with a languish stroke session, of course; that was all good fun and meant little in the end. Unless there were squiggly humans to sacrifice, Ghostface was all about the thrill of voyeurism than anything else. Snap a picture there. Marvel over it there and there. Stalk this rascal and mash dick meat to the results later. The best ones were freshly dead survivors. Such a delicious oxymoron if he'd ever heard one. 

Getting them before the life drained out of their eyes was magic. The actual Kodak moment. 

As Ghostface pondered the various intricacies of murder and life—however it worked within the Entity—a chase was reaching its end beneath him. He swung his boots above their head, reclined in a sizeable young redwood as the darkness licked the runner’s ankles below. 

Evan Macmillan grunted, taking a pallet to the face, but a high pitched scream a few moments later spelled the end for some unlucky bitch. 

As Tapp was getting the hook, Ghostface glanced over at a chugging generator in the corner of the woods. Claudette was getting her thigh patched up by a flustered David. The brits hands were getting mighty close to something filled with honey...

Often, he wondered if the survivors celebrated their victories via fucking each other's brains out. It seemed the best way to blow off all that adrenaline.

One of these days he was gonna add something saucy to his collection—one day, he was gonna catch them in the act. Maybe they'd let him join them? Not that he would. It wasn't like the survivors were worth much, but the blood they spilled. Seducing then with his ghostly charm, then hog tying them up for some fuck and grind only gave him a tingle, not a full-blown stiffy. Besides, The Entity wouldn't like him spending his trial time porking the prisoners… no, it wanted pain, suffering, and red ichor—all of that he delivered and more.

A couple of them would be into it, though. He knew for sure that timid twink Dwight would take a thick  _ Ghostdick _ up the ass and that curvy Jane, as much as she acted the prude, would probably love something juicy. The way she wiggled her voluptuous ass over his shoulder every time he plucked her up said enough that words couldn't touch. 

What Ghostface really loved doing between games wasn't trying to bone survivors, it was this—right here. He loved finding a tall perch during someone else's trial to watch and observe, maybe snap a couple of good photos as well. Seeing everyone else in action—how the survivors reacted to other killers, especially—was entertaining. 

Nea farted more when it was Myers stomping about, and Adam got the biggest boners when The Spirit was nearby. If that pink-haired Legion kid was in a frenzy, then everyone scattered like it was raining acid. To be fair, a knife really struck a nerve with them. Something about a known threat from their lives before ignited the best fight or flight responses yet. Really made them squirm...

Without a realm to call his own. He hung out in treetops and lounged across roof shingles, watching and waiting and growing his photo collection—a digital album that never seemed to fill no matter how many snaps he took. 

Any other killer might cast him off as a nuisance—too unfit for even his own personal prison—but he liked it this way. If anything, it gave him express privileges over every other soul.

He, the one and only Ghostface, relished this passive journey through different places and temperatures. The dry, nighttime warmth of the cornfields; the heated air around the swamp; cold, crisp snow melting at the lodge; and even the charged ions floating at the hospital. All these places held passing interest for someone—him, Ghostface—that was merely passing through. 

Just as it always did, the game ended eventually. 

He found himself slipping from reality, apparating into an abyssal plain. Windows into other realms appeared as though staring into a pond filled with whirlpools. Through each one, another place—another killer.

Ghostface tilted his mask at the one shimmering swirl he couldn't fit through, nearly spotting the campfire flames through the shifting glass. 

He stepped into one pool at random, inhaling the rotten stench of meat a second later. The Pig's place was garish even with the formaldehyde jars and rusted machines lying dormant. He might have even slid through the shadows into some other empty killer reality, but… a survivor dashed past him, and this was one he'd never seen before.

_ Hmmm… _

Panting, covered in The Plague's electric-green puke, a female survivor stumbled into the back room where an old corpse sat watching static-networks. 

One with the darkness, he followed—stalking close to the walls. Ghostface peered at her around a corner, turning his mask down so the shadows obscured the white protrusions just right. He observed her sob in frustration, ripping a tear in her collar wide open, revealing a thin, snug shirt beneath. 

Behind the mask, Ghostface felt his lips thin in a leering grin. 

She didn't look like any of the others, although he knew not to take any of them at face value since they came wearing different styles often enough. This one, however, had tits the size of Kate's and an ass as thicc as Jane's; a combo that was worth invoking the wrath of The Plague for should she spot him lurking during her 'special time.' 

_ Hehehe… _

He slid his camera from his sleeve, deciding on just one itty, bitty picture of those titties to massage his cock to later.

_ Oohhhh…? _

Miss Nameless Survivor was apparently unhappy with all of the toxic goop on her clothes. He held his breath as she tore at the ratty sweater hanging off her shoulder like someone chasing the white dragon, exposing a plush waistline below her heaving chest. The tight shirt hugging her breasts looked like some sort of gas station uniform. That, too, was mucked with vomit… and that also had to go. And it did...

Ghostface crouched down, shuffled further behind the wall—watching her toss her ripped clothes to the floor until he was breathing heavily. His own perverted panting made the latex feel damp and warm, sticking to his face like the black, lacey bra that was attached to those shuddering… gargantuan fun bags. He wanted to fashion a mask out of that lace, wear it while he fucked his fist, cupped his balls… and…

_ Oh'ho' ho' hooooh… _

The bra was there—promising to visit him in his fantasies—and then it was gone, and Ghostface found himself drumming his leather-clad fingers against the edge of the wall, feasting his eyes on the first solid pair of bare tits he'd seen in… forever. And what tits they were. Soft nipples painted the tips in delicate nubs, capping what he guessed was at least two handfuls ah' piece. They jiggled when she moved—bounced and wiggled. Every moment hypnotized him, so enraptured by them that he didn't feel the prickle of The Plague's radius on his spine. He did, however, manage to pull his camera out and take a single blurry photograph before the survivor's eyes dilated against the flash. 

She sprung up, fear draining her plump cheeks until her vision adjusted, dialing in on him creeping around the corner. Unfortunately for her, she screamed, bringing the killer right to her location. 

The good news was that Ghostface got to watch those breasts bounce hilariously-hot against her ribs as she booked it. The bad news was, she didn't make it very far before The Plague had her hooked and sacrificed to The Entity.

A real shame, but he knew then as he kneels now, it wouldn't be the last time he stalked her while she was unaware. 

Before this new survivor showed up, he'd nearly given up attempting to penetrate the veil between the killers divide and the survivors. Cutting through it proved troublesome but not impossible. If The Entity didn't want him to get in there, it wouldn't give him the option; at least that's what Ghostface figured. Since he was listening to the  _ Ghostdick _ and the dick wanted to find a way to the survivor's fire for some fun with a particular lady, he was gonna go for it… and go for it, he did.

It took a delicate touch, some ballet strokes of the blade along the outer edges of the veil to coax it open, exposing the survivor's campfire to his desires. All it really took was a semi-erection beneath his black linens and some sensual knife massages to gain him entrance in the end. The darkness licked around his body as he dropped through, ending up in a crouched lunge between two tall pines. 

Nighttime greeted him; the crackle of their safe haven glowed several feet away. Oblivious though they were in the 'safety' of their realm, the survivors shared stories and jokes around the fire. Meg was pointing her finger to prove some ass-end point while Bill was trying to talk over the whispering between Claudette and David.  _ Typical _ , Ghostface thought, narrowing his gaze behind the mask and shaking his head in sympathy for their lackluster entertainment resources. He was probably right about all the fucking because what else did that have to do? 

His tig ol' bitty survivor was absent from the group, as were several others.

Dancing with the shadows, he scouted their setup—popping up over bushes, leaning around thick tree trunks, and stalking through lines of darkness to a cluster of sagging cabins that looked promising. 

For a bunch of weaklings that were sentenced to die over and over again, The Entity  _ hooked _ them up. Their accommodations were not skimped. 

Maybe the boredom was part of their torture, but the comfort between trials wasn't up for debate. For a moment, Ghostface almost felt envious as he peered through dirty windows into each barren cabin, searching and starving for that ass… those tits… 

He crept from door to door, listening and exploring. Of course, the last one was _ the one _ .

Ghostface drew in a throaty inhale, then sighed with annoyance when he nudged the door handle, finding it locked up snug and tight. The dark mist coiled around his boots as he slowly approached the window—hugged by a crop of trees—and raised his drooping black eyes to the pane. Inside, his survivor wiggled over a soft-looking twin mattress. The patch-work sheets wrinkled around her naked body like an obscene summer camp delight. There was no moonlight or starlight, but the shrouded sky above glowed a navy hue, throwing enough light across her bare tits and stomach to give him a major boner.

Ghostface didn't have long to wonder what she was doing. 

He gripped the window ledge with both hands, rubbing the tips of his gloves into the seams, and pressed his mask to the glass as her hand massaged—unhurried—across her mound. The thin, light covering of hair was oddly erotic, despite having preferred a smooth shave to run his tongue across in the past. 

"Ooh… shit," she said to the darkness, loud enough he could hear through the glass.

The survivor's fingers started playing between her thighs. To  _ Ghostdick's _ dismay, the shadows obscured where her pussy leaked beneath dexterous little fingers, but he could clearly make out the firm bead of her nipple between two fingers—pinched and tugged—as she fucked herself. 

His leather gloves wrinkled, creaking noisily as his grip tightened on the ledge, holding himself close and pressing ever closer as she started to moan. It was, perhaps, the hottest thing he'd seen in his life. Indeed, the sexiest thing he'd seen since The Entity brought him inside its belly to chews it’s food for it—indeed hot enough to risk tugging his cock out for some open-air funsies.

"Fuck…" another loud moan and shuddering sigh penetrated the window pane.

_ Mmmhmmm... _

He glanced around the cabin—just a look right and left—before Ghostface pulled in another noisy breath, holding it as he tugged up the black drapery around his waist, and exhaled as his cock throbbed into his fist. It felt like forever since he last did this, and considering The Entity's love of ambiguity, it might as well have been.

The first bare-cocked stroke felt like a brush fire stoking in his balls. Warm, smooth leather made each languish massage feel foreign and familiar. By the sixth stroke, he was coated in slippery precum, fueled by this busty survivor swirling her clit and squeezing her tits like he strangled throats.

As he jerked off in the darkness outside her cabin, he tilted his mask to the side, trying to see beyond the shadows to the patch of slippery flesh he could tell felt really, really nice. Just by her moans alone, it sounded wet and hot… ready to take something more substantial than her slim fingers—perfectly prepped for his cock.

For a moment, he considered opening her window, crawling inside to pop up between her thighs with a surprise in store. Ghostface wanted to pin her to the bed with his knife, force her to align his cock with her slit, and just… fucking piledrive her into a toneless, sobbing mess of cum, blood, and sweat. She deserved a little break, and so did he. Ghostface pictured raw dogging her as she twitched and writhed in bed, stroking his meat faster and faster… harder and tighter…

Her stomach tightened in the ebony light. Thick, shapely thighs lifted then lowered. Her hips raised, and her wrist delved further down, fucking her fingers inside herself fast enough  _ Ghostdick _ could hear the damp 'schlick-schlick' sucking if he held his breath.

"Gah'ghost-" she gasped—the rest ending in a hiccup as her shiny fingers raced up to her clit, mashing it while her other hand plucked mercilessly at her nipple.

Ghostface gulped and shuddered, breathing fire as his sack tightened, and the rubber band behind his cock pulled straight. He barely managed to get the heavy, black garments outta the way before upending a splatter of jizz on the side of her cabin. He wrung several more long strings of cum in the grass and across his boots as he watched his survivor moan his moniker like she wanted this spent cock ejaculating in her mouth… or her cunt… or her ass…

_ Haaaaaa… _

It was another shaky photo in all honesty, but he managed to pull his camera out as his dick grew soft—managed to minimize the glare from his flash and snap a bright photo of her as she had her head thrown back in an orgasm she worked hard for. It was only during the third photo that she winced against the flash and jolted up in bed; by the time she was padding around the cabin and panting in euphoria-drenched fear, he was gone. 

The best part about his time between trials had shifted a little. Same-same, but different.

Up in the pines, crouching on a sturdy branch overlooking the cabins, he watched her stumble out the door in nothing but a ripped sweater and black panties, cursing David and Dwight's libidos. Each shouted insult made his dick throb a little—made his blood lust a little thicker too. 

Next time he saw the two D's, he was gonna toy with them a little. Just the idea of them stalking and snooping after Ghostface called dibs was warrant for a massacre. Besides, Miss Nameless Survivor called out his name while fucking her sweet lil' pussy, so he was gonna guard that treasure trove until—and after—he claimed it for his own.

One of these endless evenings, he was gonna treat her to a little surprise. The saucy part of his collection had only just begun… but it had a very, very promising start.

_ Heheheee... _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! All mistakes and typos are my own. If you have the time and the desire, please let me know what you think below. <3
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